


Maid in Heaven

by bunnyrobot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, M/M, Maids, Size Difference, robots in clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2020-12-23 21:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21088409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyrobot/pseuds/bunnyrobot
Summary: Trepan escapes one bad situation for another, but it might not be all that bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is...a weird alternate universe. No one is dead (yet?) and some players in this story are just there for convenience. Really, don’t think too hard about the timelines. I just wanted to write this garbage scenario for these terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad robots.
> 
> I'll update tags/rating/whatever as it goes along.

There was no other viable option for going into hiding. No one would seek him out in this kind of environment, doing this kind of job. He was so lucky for this unique opportunity Lobe had hooked him up with—before he cut him and all traces of his work from the Institute entirely_ . _ All of his contributions, all of his successes, his advancements in neuroscience—those would all become attributed to some unsuspecting _ no name_. It would almost be as if Trepan were deleted from existence.

_ Lucky.  
_

Trepan would just keep telling himself that.

The job, Lobe informed him, was essentially hired help. Someone to assist with the grunt work of getting a giant mansion and its surrounding grounds back into shape after it had fallen into disrepair. An incident had taken place there, but Trepan didn’t get the chance to glean many details of the situation. There wasn’t time.

The master of the house, known as The Overlord, was often in and out of it apparently, but there wasn’t much time to ask questions about that individual either. It was out of the way and isolated and the perfect place to lay low until Trepan could formulate another plan to get himself even further from the Institute and anyone associated with it.

Trepan rested the crest of his helm on the window of the small ship, focusing on the blue-green planet that was coming into orbit. He’d repainted his frame with dull grays, and reconfigured some of his armor. Though, Trepan kept such a low profile before they anticipated the breech, he doubted anyone would give him a second glance and guess who he was. If Lobe did his job properly, he honestly didn't have much to worry about. The engraving on his left wrist was still an issue, a silly indulgence he had etched in when he was younger and more passionate about _ certain _ aspects of the Institute, but he’d get it replated eventually. For now, the small leather strapped chronometer he’d fastened over it would have to be enough to hide it.

The transport rumbled slightly as it traveled through the atmosphere, but soon the ride was smooth again and a small launchpad came into view. Trepan began to gather the small amount of belongings he had scattered in the small area, as he wouldn’t have much time before the transport pod shot back into space and self destructed. He opened a small tin and popped an energon stick in the side of his cheek before throwing the rest into his sub-space and braced his arms on the frame of the window for landing.

_ Lucky. _

**❤** — **❤ **— **❤**

Trepan hitched up the pack on his back and quickly walked up to the brick and iron fencing of the mansion. He worried slightly that the security standards were a little antiquated, should anyone find him here. Fortunately, he arrived in the daylight, so navigating the brush and overgrown gravel road wasn’t entirely miserable. He found a panel along the gate with an intercom to request entry into the property. It chimed a few notes when pressed and he waited.

And waited.

Trepan stepped back and peered through the rungs of the iron gate for signs of life, a ship parked in the field of overgrowth, lights, anything.

_You have got to be kidding me._

He let out an exasperated huff, pressed the intercom again and the chime didn’t finish playing its cheery little tune before the gate began to slowly creak open. Trepan started ahead to pass through, and a vehicle behind him honked. He couldn’t help but let out a surprised shriek and just about jumped out of his plating.

Pressing a hand over his spark and taking a few calm intakes of air, he finally turned around and squinted at an enormous navy vehicle idling. Behind the wheel was a wide, amused grin.

Trepan crossed the distance to the smirking driver’s side window, as it rolled down.

“Who are you?”

“The new employee. Pan.” he said, fighting to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

“About time,” said the driver, idly scratching the cables on the side of his neck and staring off towards the mansion, “Aren’t you a little…”

“What?”

“...little?”

“With all respect, I don’t believe there was anything in the job description that stated a preference for size.”

The driver glanced at him and then back at the mansion and shrugged.

“You getting in, or are you going to walk?”

Trepan visibly flinched but covered it up with a slight bow.

“Yes sir, thank you.”

He started to move to get into the back of the vehicle, but the driver’s door opened and he found his upper arm enclosed by a giant hand. Before he could protest, Trepan was swiftly yanked over the driver’s lap and into the cab.

“Are you—” Trepan scrambled to sit upright in the passenger seat. “The owner? The Overlord?”

“Heh. It’s just ‘Overlord.’ It’s been _ so _ long since I’ve heard someone say my name.” he slouched back in the seat with a toothy grin and slowly continued along the gravel driveway, steering with one hand.

"S-So 'Just Overlord' is how you would prefer me address you, then?"

"That's fine, unless I change my mind." Overlord snickered.

“How long have you been here?” Trepan idly noted that Overlord’s hand gripping the wheel could also probably encircle all the way around his waist. He blinked and snapped his attention back on the silhouette of the mansion becoming more and more clear through the trees.

“Just under a year. Hell, it feels like it’s been nearly an eternity though.”

Trepan nodded.

“You know how to cook?”

“What?”

“Can you boil water?”

“Of course I can boil water. I’m not some professionally trained chef, but I can prepare and mix energon just fine.”

“What about cleaning, any good at that?”

Trepan bristled a little. What was this monstrous mech getting at?

“I will do whatever you ask of me.”

“Hm, that’s what my last employee said. Still don’t know how he made it out with one leg...or perhaps he’s just decomposing out there in the woods.”

Trepan crossed his arms and tried his hardest to look bored.

“Anyway, I’d be careful making statements like that.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the gravel path twisting through the woods and up the hill before Overlord put the vehicle in park and shut it off. He wrenched his door open and descended into the gravel with a heavy crunch. Trepan followed suit and walked around the front to stand next to Overlord at the steps to the mansion.

Ominously large double doors with weathered copper knockers were at the top of the cracked stairs, and with one glance up at his employer, it made sense why the door was so enormous. Now that they weren’t sitting in the vehicle, Overlord stood at his full titan height, and Trepan barely made it to his waist. It would have been nice if Lobe mentioned that the master of the house could quite literally tear someone apart with little effort if the notion struck. Trepan clasped his hands in front of him before fiddling with the leather strap on his chronometer and did what he could to calm his whirring processor.

It might be awhile before he left this place.


	2. Chapter 2

The inside of the mansion was quite remarkable—even with layers of dirt and grime on the elaborate furnishings and floors. Overlord told Trepan to take a tour and find his room while he unloaded the truck. He also warned him to mind the cyberhounds that patrolled the back terrace. They hadn’t been fed since Overlord had gone out for supplies.

As Trepan made his way through the foyer, he found that the mansion was divided into two wings, with brocade fabric-lined staircases leading to the East and West. Above him was an absolutely dreary chandelier—what was once probably a stunning focal point upon entering the building. Though it was updated to be powered by electricity—it failed to reflect any light, the dangling crystals covered in cobwebs and dust.

From Overlord's earlier admission that he resided here for nearly a year, the place would be considered pretty gross by anyone’s standards. Trepan certainly had his work cut out for him.

He pushed open a door at the top of the stairs to the left, which led him across a catwalk, overlooking a great dining room. This room had a checkerboard tiled floor, a fireplace, an upright floor chronometer and a long table, of which was outfitted with eight chairs, all polished wood except for a solitary one at the end. This chair didn’t match the others as it was three times the size, studded and upholstered in a merlot colored fabric, a bit crinkled from use, and appeared almost clean.

_ Almost. _

Trepan grabbed hold of the catwalk balcony, leaning closer to stare at it in contemplation for a full minute before realizing the quite _ obvious, _of why this throne of a chair was mixed in with the others. Overlord would destroy any of the other options to sit in the room due to his bulky size.

Trepan shook his head despite himself and continued through yet another door, leading into what seemed to be a gallery of statues, paintings, and what someone _ might _ call trophies hanging on the walls. The casual observer might wonder the fate of the original owner of that particular beam gun with the autobranded stock was, or just whose wings might those be, before they had been cleanly torn off and mounted upon the wall. He shivered. 

Another staircase led back to the main level. He noted on the way down that there were two large indentations riddled with splinters along the railing. Trepan wondered if someone had gripped hold of it, either to prevent a fall, or perhaps launch themselves down the stairwell quickly. But for what reason?

Trepan would finally find the kitchen located off the dining room, which was the cleanest room he had come across thus far. The stone countertops had a couple of divots and small cracks here and there, the tile floor in a similar condition—but they were dry and free of splatters. He turned on the sink which sputtered and spit angrily for a brief moment—but the pressure evened out, and the water was actually warm. This was highly reassuring, as it meant no matter how dirty Trepan got, there was likely a warm shower or wash-rack on the premises to take care of it. 

He found his quarters down another hallway from there. He shut the door quickly behind him and set down his pack of belongings. It was a modestly-sized room, if he were to compare it to the rest of the estate. However, it was much more spacious than what he was accustomed to back home. He thought about how there was an entire wing of the mansion left to be explored and wondered if that's where Overlord's quarters were.

The room had simple furnishings, a small desk, a chest, a chair and bed, though whoever resided here previously had left it unmade and the pillow had a sheen of oil and flakes of rust. There was an enormous bay window with a bench seat covered with velvet cushions, and Trepan paused to have a small coughing fit from the dust he kicked up as he climbed up to open the curtains. He was able to get the window open with a bit of struggle, hoping it would help remove the stagnant air from the room.

He poked his head out the window, clinging to the frame, but the trees effectively blocked most of the view of the main driveway, and he couldn’t spot if Overlord was still there.

Trepan didn’t take much by way of possessions with him, and Lobe had gleefully taken care of the task transferring all of his credits away. The intermediary that hooked him up with this arrangement in the first place, not to mention the entire act of disappearing, wasn’t cheap.

Presently though, he wasn’t too worried about credits. There were much more important things to spend processor resources on.

He grabbed the pillow and removed its case, brushing off the spider webs and dirt from the desk. Satisfied that it was as clean as it would be for the effort, he tossed the soiled pillowcase by the door and began rifling through his pack. He removed a datapad and stylus, a chamois, some cleaning solvent spray, a small bottle of pink engex, a vial of high grade, and the tin of energon candies—setting each item neatly on the desk. He checked the contents of the candy tin before snapping it shut with a frown and drop of his shoulders and spiky antenna.

_ The sweets would have to be rationed carefully. _

Pack empty, he slung it over the back of the chair and turned to find a cracked and splattered mirror. A flash of a broken and unfamiliar reflection caught him off guard and he almost shrieked out loud for the second time that day.

Covering his mouth, he instead cursed quietly and let out a slow ex-vent. Trepan leaned closer to the mirror, studying the copper colored helm that he modified only a few days previously. Honestly, it was a bit of an improvement in looks, though he missed the bright orange it used to be. The previous helm he sported wasn’t symmetrical, though it was more practical for his work by way of the high powered scopes. This new helm had scopes as well, but several were frankly cosmetic, and only the main larger set of goggles had any function. An additional set of antenna were installed on the other side of his helm as well, to complete his new look.

His optics flicked over to the door. He probably shouldn’t dawdle too much scrutinizing himself. With a deep intake, and head held a little higher, he strode with purpose back through the hallway.

Instead of going back the same route he came, he went down another dreary hallway and crossed through the kitchen and giant dining room. As he crossed by the table, he stopped to inspect the enormous chair, noting that the tiles were scratched where it appeared to have been dragged into place. Trepan reached out to run his fingertips over the round metal studs tacking down the surprisingly soft upholstery.

“Find your room?”

He whipped his head around with wide optics and hurriedly stood, straightening his posture.

Overlord was surprisingly...stealthy.

“I did, yes.”

“Then help me with this.” Overlord placed a large crate in front of him rather unceremoniously. “There’s supplies and energon to move to the kitchen, and you’ve probably noticed there’s a slag ton to get done around here. We’ll talk more about your duties later, but you can start with that. Hopefully you’re not entirely _ useless _ and can handle this?”

Trepan said nothing but nodded, bending down to inspect the contents of the crate before him. He saw Overlord’s feet step closer to him in his peripheral vision.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I apologize. I’ll handle it.”

Trepan carded through packets and packets of quick mix engex flavorings, and pulled out 2 large ten gallon containers of unrefined energon and set them aside. There were dozens more containers like it inside the crate, but where Trepan could subside on a single one for a month, he was sure Overlord needed seven times the amount to maintain his systems. There was also a box of cleaning solvents and tools which Trepan was highly relieved to see. There was also...a strange folded bit of fabric? Trepan pulled out the white cloth, shaking it out and holding it up to inspect it.

“What is this?”

“Oh, weird, I thought I ordered the full-sized one. It’s an apron.”

“Apron?” Trepan stood up and looked to Overlord, tilting his helm slightly, still confused.

“It’s supposed to keep your plating cleaner. The last mech was always complaining about getting debris caked in his seams. He should have been more worried about—well, anyway. You can wear it, but I have no idea if it’ll make a real difference, especially since that one would barely cover...”

Trepan held up the fabric to his waist before tying it in the back carefully. The apron covered his front—the glass of his spark chamber, but the length only grazed the tops of his thighs, and he could see what Overlord was talking about. It didn’t seem very practical. He lifted the bizarrely ruffled edge of the apron to inspect it a little closer.

“Oh, it has a pocket, sir.”

Overlord was silent. Trepan looked up.

“Sir?”

“You know…” Overlord had a rather strange look, there was a notable drop in the frequency of the hum of systems, and the room seemed to be warming quickly. “That looks really ridiculous, and the more I hear you say it.....I can’t decide if I like this ‘sir’ business or not.”

“Fine,” Trepan reached behind him to begin unfastening the bow. ”After I finish putting everything away, would you like me to cook you something, _ Overlord _?”

“Hrn.” Overlord crossed his arms. “I guess it couldn’t hurt, Trepan. Like a lot of things, always better when _ someone else _does it.”

Trepan sputtered a bit of static at the unmistakable innuendo and noticed that the mech’s optics were trained on the lower half of his frame. He mumbled something about getting to it—those supplies and rations wouldn’t put themselves away—before he hurried to the kitchen, Overlord’s amused laughter ringing after him down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there’s so much exposition/description in this chapter, I got a little bit…...carried away with it. 
> 
> If you're observant, you may notice some clues that Overlord's place might very well be based off another fictional mansion, albeit slightly >:3c
> 
> I like the idea of cybertronians mixing kool-aid packets into their energon and the like...and also like...pop rocks or whatever—to make it more tasty. I think Overlord would do this because he's too lazy to process the energon properly to make it palatable otherwise. Just dump in some sugar and call it good!! 
> 
> I hope my characterizations aren't too off of the mark, and the next chapter will probably take a little longer, so thank you for your patience!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooking & cleaning...love that domestic life...

Trepan woke with a start in the darkness of his room, blankets wrapped tightly around him. He sighed, remembering where he was, and the conversation the previous night about duties with his new employer. A quick glance at his chronometer informed him it was time to get up and get to work.

Over the following week, he quickly learned a lot about the master of the house. 

Overlord spent a surprising amount of time out of the mansion, leaving early in the day, attending meetings both on and off planet. He consistently returned late in the evenings, which partially explained why the place was in such a state of disorder. 

Trepan was briefed periodically with new data packets of Overlord’s schedule, and he was a little taken aback with how much information he was privy to  _ about _ his daily plans. It wasn’t as though he was to be acting in some secretary capacity. Were he in Overlord’s position, he would never allow his worker to be so aware of his whereabouts and certainly wouldn’t trust so much. Either Overlord completely wrote him off as a threat, or the convenience of Trepan being able to anticipate when to be available to him outweighed the risks. 

Overlord also handed over a data chip that contained tasks his predecessor hadn’t completed. Most had to do with cleaning and simple repairs, which he attacked with his whole spark, not wanting to draw the master’s ire. He got enough attention from him just being the only other resident of the grounds. It wasn’t so terrible though. Trepan had some semblance of autonomy with his responsibilities and was left to his own devices for the bulk of the day. 

In some ways, the menial grunt work was a break for the processor, and the results from cleaning were highly visible and honestly...satisfying. It brought Trepan back to memories of long ago when he was apprenticing and tasked with cleaning the exam rooms after mnemosurgery sessions. The patients tended to leak during and post injection.

Trepan took to wearing the white ruffly apron while he was cleaning, as it proved more useful than at first glance. From what Overlord told him about the previous worker, the latter had been correct. He wasn’t a vain type of mech, but it substantially reduced the amount of dirt and sediment he had to pry out of his plating at the end of the day. 

When he got around to explore and assess the rest of the mansion—the East wing, there was some respite from the neverending dust and grime. Overlord’s room was found relatively clean.

_ Relatively. _

The bed—which was of a gargantuan size Trepan had never seen before, was left rumpled and unmade each morning. There was a small console table littered with rust sticks, foil-wrapped energon drops and assorted spare parts. Trepan couldn’t say he wasn’t slightly tempted to take a few of the sweets, but he managed to corral them into a small jar and leave them be. The floor was in need of some sweeping, but whoever had worked under Overlord before had gone to some effort to maintain the space. It only took him about fifteen kliks on the first sweep of the room to shake out the covers and straighten things up. 

This was not the case for the rest of the mansion. 

It took two full days to deep clean and reorganize the kitchen and the dining hall. Trepan moved all of the dishes and utensils to the lower cabinets and fancy serving platters and delicate crystal goblets were relocated to the higher shelves. It was annoying to work in a space when he couldn’t reach half of the tools of the trade, and not everyone was blessed with having a gargantuan frame type. Constantly climbing on the counters or pinging Overlord for requests to fetch him this or that made this a priority for him, other than just having a better idea of the inventory. 

On the second day, he nearly finished cleaning the dining room. Scrubbing the checkerboard tile into a mirror finish and kneeling in the corner closest to the entrance by the foyer, he heard the door slam heavy and unexpected. He glanced up at the chronometer. Two jours earlier than Overlord had returned all week. He reached into the corner to slide his cleaning cloth along the baseboard when he heard the clearing of a vocalizer.

“Hey, did you prepare something?”

Trepan narrowed his optics at the muddy boots on the shiny tile before looking up at him. There was now a pattern of tank treads and errant splatters leading into the dining room. Trepan’s EM field couldn’t stand it and a slight surge of annoyance was broadcast in the vicinity. 

“Something?”

“Don’t be stupid. Engex.” Overlord’s EM field flared with annoyance right back.  _ Whoops. _

Trepan pushed himself up off the floor and brushed off the apron and plating on his thighs. He reined his EM field back into something resembling neutrality.

“You’re back a little bit early, but I’ll—”

“ _ Excuse me _ ?”

Trepan stretched and closed his tired hands into tight fists before relaxing them. 

“I can have the premix out to you right away, or I can prepare something more substantial, if you allow a little time. What is your preference?” he tilted his helm and exvented. 

“My preference is for you to lose that attitude.” Overlord growled, crossing his arms in front of his broad chassis.

“Your meeting on Nyx went poorly?”

He let out an indignant snort, sneering down at him. “That’s not your concern, what you need to be concerned about—”

The smaller mech shook his head and turned on his heel to head to the kitchen, abandoning Overlord with his bucket of solvents in the corner. Three lumbering strides and a hand around his upper arm yanked him back, halting his exit. He looked up at the ruby optics flashing brightly with irritation. 

“Have you been huffing the cleaning supplies, Pan?” Overlord leaned down so his face was at his level. “You don’t get to dismiss me.”

It took every bit of his processor to not shake in fear or lose his spinal strut and collapse trembling to the floor. 

“As you said, I need to be concerned...and I am. I’m concerned about failing my duties to you.” he focused on the little emblem in the center of Overlord’s helm, grounding himself before continuing. “You’re under-fueled, exhausted and I’ve neglected to do my job. Please let me make an attempt to rectify the situation.”

“Tch. _ Fine. _ As you were.” he rolled his optics and rose back to his full height. “I’ll be back in a jour.”

With the overgrown mech out of the way for the moment, Trepan hurried into the kitchen to put something together. Overlord wasn’t picky, but his fuel disappeared a lot faster when it was in condensed form.Trepan cracked and poured 4 cubes into a large steel pot, beginning the process to reduce the fuel in volume. After bringing it to boil, he simmered the thickened energon for half a jour, after which he ran it through a small mesh filter over several passes to filter out impurities that rose to the surface. It was a bit tedious, but the results were worth the effort. 

Being in a constant state of war, cooking had fallen out of vogue in Cybertronian society, partially due to rationing and frankly...convenience. Most mechs mixed up their intake of energon simply by treating themselves with high grade or mass produced processed treats. There were very few who took the time to prepare fuel beyond opening and throwing back a cube. 

Throwing down a tray and spoon on the counter, Trepan rushed to pour the mixture into a sizable white bowl. He flung a dash of flaky sodium chloride over the top of the dish to bring out more sweetness, and  _ hell _ , it looked prettier that way. He swiped an errant drop of gelled energon clean off of the tray with a finger and tasted it— _ not half bad _ —before collecting everything to take out to the dining hall when—   
  


“Time’s up.” Overlord deadpanned from the doorframe. 

Trepan lost his grip on the serving tray, the bowl clattering, and eyes widened as he realized his hard work was about to end up shattering all over the floor. The floor he just spent the better part of the day scrubbing. 

Overlord’s hand shot out underneath and stabilized it before it could fall.

_ Fast! _

Trepan opened and shut his mouth a few times. Overlord tilted his helm, looking down at something. Trepan gave him a tired smile and looked down and back at Overlord a few times, resetting his optics, trying to figure out what caught his interest. His gaze wasn’t on the tray, it wasn’t on his face...

“What are you looking at?” 

“You’re wearing that  _ thing _ again.”

“It’s _ practical _ .” he huffed, very aware of the sudden heat and flush of coolant pooling into his faceplates. 

“It’s still ridiculous.” Overlord looked highly amused for a moment, before looking at the tray and frowning slightly. “Where’s your bowl, Pan?” 

“M-My bowl?” his vocalizer stuttered. He couldn’t be serious. Trepan ventured cautiously. “You want me to...accompany you?”

“ _ Mm. _ You’re mad at me, and I don’t think you’d try it, but I want to make sure you didn’t make something that’ll have me purging my tanks later.” 

“You think I would ruin—I would never—what a  _ waste  _ of energon!” he pouted, letting Overlord take the full weight of the tray, deciding to show him just how poisonous it was by taking a large spoonful of the energon and swallowing it...now realizing it had been awhile since he’d had anything to eat. He couldn’t help dropping his shoulders as his systems hummed pleasantly from the fuel intake.

Overlord just stared.

“Satisfied it’s not tainted? Am I dismissed?”

“No.” The smirk on his lips was back. “I still want you to join me at the table.” 

He could feel his frame being studied again but ignored it, grabbed his bowl from the counter and looked up with a smirk of his own.  


“...Very well.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best way to a mech’s spark is through their fuel tank 💖🍨
> 
> I think the next chapter will be a lot faster...thanks for the nice comments...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long... 
> 
> Also I apologize because I was lazy with the formatting. For whatever reason ao3 likes to add extra spaces and does weird stuff when you paste italic text in and I can't be bothered to fix it at the moment :' ) It's really irritating! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this installment!

After the dishes were cleared, and the kitchen put back into order, Trepan was commed to meet Overlord on the back terrace. When he ventured outside, he found an intricately bricked patio that was bordered by a wall of stone. It was further enclosed by a black iron gate, crusted with lichen and overgrown ivy. Matching iron sconces dimly lit the area but the stars were bright enough that Trepan didn’t have to squint.

Down on the ground was Overlord, crouched and petting an enormous silver cyberhound. Trepan hadn’t seen one of the beasts in ages, as his housing complex didn’t allow for pets. The cyberhound had fierce glowing green optics, and its muzzle sported a set of sharp fangs. This model was designed for intimidation, whereas most versions of the canine seen in the domestic market had blunt snouts and friendly rounded features. Overlord didn’t seem to pay its appearance any mind, tutting and making kissing noises at his pet before giving it a small pat on the rump, pointing at Trepan.

“Go meet the maid.” 

Trepan froze in his tracks as the cyberhound approached him and circled around his legs, sniffing first at the apron and then his pedes.

“He won’t hurt you. At least not unless you do something stupid, heh.”

Trepan clasped both hands under his chin, still watching the cyberhound, who was now bumping his knee plate with the top of his head.

“W-What’s his name?” he ventured, resetting his vocalizer. He wasn’t sure if it was better to sound confident or meek when approached by such a pet.

“Mac, and  _ Mac _ is trying to get you to pet him.” said Overlord, scrunching his fingers in the air a few times.

Trepan slowly reached down to touch one of Mac’s pointed ears. When his fingers weren’t immediately snapped at, he placed a more confident hand over his head and stroked down the cyberhound’s back. Trepan was surprised to feel a small hum of a pleased EM field brush against his from the beast. Apparently even these attack models kept up the companion programming.

“That’s it. Now that he knows who you are, you can take care to feed him. His sister’s around somewhere too.” Overlord brushed a stray leaf from his knee and rose to his full height. 

“Is she the same frame model?”

“Bigger.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Trepan said, his hand stilling. “What time do they need to be fed…do they require any special supplements?”

“I usually just fill their bowls with low-grade in the morning before I leave.”

Trepan nodded, making a mental note and started petting Mac again, startling when his ears perked up and smacked his hand. “Whoa--what is it?” 

Mac keened sharply and took a flying leap over the gate with next to no effort. Frantic barking echoed through the courtyard as he dashed down a path that led into the wood. Trepan scrunched up his faceplates and looked to Overlord for answers.

He just turned his helm to watch the tail end of the cyberhound disappear into the brush and gave a shrug. “Dame must be close by. Maybe she found something interesting?”

“The sister?” Trepan asked. 

“Who else?” Overlord deadpanned and the smaller mech shook his head, frowning at him in annoyance. 

“Whatever they find will turn up dropped off here, always does.” he grinned and pointed at the ground. “Just not always  _ intact _ .”

******

The next few weeks went by without too much excitement. The two fell into a comfortable routine. Overlord left to meet with various entities across the galaxy, and Trepan cleaned another room of the mansion. Overlord would complete whatever mysterious jobs he was tasked with, returning at odd hours of the night, Trepan cleaned yet another room of the mansion.

If it was earlier in the evening rather than later, they would share dinner as well as the day's events with each other. Overlord would perch himself on a tiny kitchen stool and complain about his associates. Trepan would share about interesting oddities and annoyances he found in the various rooms. There was a hornet’s nest in one of the galleries--quite the ordeal to clear. Overlord was wheezing with laughter as Trepan huffily explained how he had to construct a platform out of storage boxes and swat it down with a broom. 

Overlord would also use these nightly chats to steal long glances at his employee’s aft plate with absolutely no shame as he watched him wash the dishes. Trepan didn’t dare mention he noticed. 

One morning, Trepan waited by the foyer until he heard Overlord’s massive vehicle rumble away.  _ Why  _ a cybertronian even needed a vehicle in the first place was kind of peculiar, but Overlord groused about denting his frame and getting rocks stuck in his paneling from the unkempt gravel road. Apparently enough of a reason that it was above him to use his alt mode. 

After Trepan’s audials couldn’t pick up the sound of his departure any longer, he scampered away from the entry hall. Today offered a glimpse of what lay beyond the mansion and into his old life. 

Overlord had carelessly left a datapad behind on the dining table. 

_ Lucky. _

Trepan hurriedly took a seat on a ripped stool in the kitchen and scooted in. He noticed, then decided to ignore the dried splashes of energon glaring up on the counters—leftovers from preparing Overlord’s breakfast. He was going to allow himself an indulgence and a break, Primus be damned.

He hunched over the pilfered datapad and swiped across the major news headlines. No mentions of the Institute, no mentions of  _ Trepan _ . He let out a long sigh. The orange mech then navigated to a video sharing site and spent the next full jour watching holovids of small earth animals with pointed ears and whiskers. Such funny little creatures, in his opinion. 

But soon that was quite enough. He still had a lot to accomplish before Overlord returned. He’d made significant progress but there were still rooms he had hardly touched. There was a massive library which he was saving as an odd kind of a treat for himself, because he knew he would get distracted organizing and setting aside the texts to read for later. And speaking of distracting, it was not lost on him that Overlord seemed to be more and more appreciative of his company. He seemed to trust and leave him to his own devices, even if Trepan could feel his optics burning into his aft from time to time. _ Maybe that was all it was. _ It was just Trepan’s lithe frame type he was appreciative of.

On the flipside, Overlord was something to behold himself. His enormous presence and sheer size were highly appealing and to Trepan’s taste, if he were being completely honest. He rarely spoke to mechs of similar size class in the past, beyond going over the procedures for when cybertronians would rent out their frames at the Institute. Having a relationship with anyone outside of the Institute and not in the know, so to speak, was a liability as well. 

Lobe got on his case for being a single shut-in from time to time. Or maybe it was a “stuck up size-queen” he’d been called. In retrospect, it was probably a bad thing Trepan had been overly particular about berth partners. Due to this whole mess, he might never have a romp again, depending on how things developed with his employer.  _ His employer.  _ He was being ridiculous for even considering the possibility. 

But then again, maybe it was just the silly apron he wore that Overlord liked.  _ Pfft. _ The lech. It could just be that due to the solitude of the mansion and no alternative, he was a bit lonely and starved for attention from anyone. Or maybe the triple-changer was simply a bully who liked to mess with mechs who never had a chance against him in physical combat. Trepan sighed to himself.

However, it  _ would _ be rather fascinating to watch him take someone on in a fight. He guessed that when Overlord was involved, a battle didn’t last very long, and he could potentially take multiple mechs on at once. Given the opportunity, the phase sixer could quite literally crush someone underpede and he was amazingly agile despite his bulk and also... _ what was with this train of thought? _ Trepan mentally chastised himself for fantasizing about his employer and tucked the datapad under his arm. He made his way out of the kitchen and froze when he heard a booming bark from the courtyard. 

His spark whirled in his chest.  _ He hadn’t forgotten to feed them, had he?  _ He subspaced the datapad and wracked his processor back to the events of the morning.

_ No.  _

He distinctly remembered doing the chore. 

So what was going on out there? He strode out to the entry and peeked out the window. Strangely, he couldn’t see anything in the courtyard until giant paws clicked and scratched at the glass, a cyberhound excitedly jumping right in his face. Thank goodness he’d spared anyone else’s presence who would have to hear the piercing shriek he made. The cyberhound even tilted its head, honing in on the sound with a confused look that was adorable, had Trepan not been so surprised.

_ Primus, this place was annoying. _

Trepan opened the door out to the terrace and both cyberhounds greeted him, gleefully yipping and snapping at his heels, practically herding him outside to the iron gate. He wasn’t sure if Overlord had something to do with the beast’s positive temperament towards him, or if it was the fact that they naturally gained a slight affinity to the mech that fed them every day, but Trepan would take it.

“What are you--where are you leading me?” Trepan asked, trying desperately not to trip over them. 

The canines easily slipped through the scuffed bars of the gate. Trepan could have fit through as well, but opened it to let himself through. They were starting to run so Trepan had to hurry to not lose sight of their tails whipping through the brush. 

Finally they stopped and sat on either side of something half buried in the dirt. 

Trepan bent down to brush moss and leaves off a dented strip of metal. That strip connected to another flat section with scuffed paint and a rounded bridge that warped into a hollowed out place that looked like it might house an optic and—

He threw himself backward and fell down hard. 

The cyberhounds simply continued to sniff and pawed excitedly at the rusting head of the corpse before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter still isn't quite where I want it to be but I'm hoping by throwing it out there I can be more decisive of the plot and also get to some fun fluff I've had written for months. 
> 
> Also Mossfew did some fanart for this fic! Go check them out on tumblr to see a very sweet picture of Trepan with his adorable apron and tray. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing etc!
> 
> It gives me a kick in the butt to continue plinking away at this when you do!!


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